


Keeps the Stress Away

by icandrawamoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Chair Sex, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Light-Hearted, M/M, Office Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 16:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13239939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: “When's the last time you got laid?” Wedge asks baldly, looking over from his desk, and it startles a laugh out of Tycho.“Usually I'm the one asking you that.”





	Keeps the Stress Away

**Author's Note:**

> Usually when I write sex, it's either angsty or Highly Emotional, so I've been wanting to try my hand at a scene that was more sort of light-hearted and fun for awhile, and this is what finally happened.

Tycho can't concentrate on the requisition form in front of him. It probably has something to do with the way he's jostling his knee and making the datapad shake into unreadability, but he can't help himself. He's restless, antsy, like he'd rather be doing anything else than sitting in a chair dealing with datawork right now. Maybe he should give up and head to the gym or go run a few laps or–

“When's the last time you got laid?” Wedge asks baldly, looking over from his desk, and it startles a laugh out of him.

“Usually I'm the one asking you that.” How keen of Wedge to see it, though. A good fuck would probably do wonders to help the situation.

Wedge shrugs with a half-smile. “How the tables have turned.”

Tycho slumps back in the chair, letting the datapad drop beside him and rubbing his hands over his face. “Too long,” he admits.

“I'm always here,” Wedge tells him matter-of-factly, and Tycho looks up again, sees his friend watching him with patient brown eyes. It wouldn't be the first time the two of them used each other for relief and pleasure, though it's usually not Wedge initiating. Tycho wonders suddenly if this is something his friend needs, too.

With the unspoken offer, Tycho already feels some of the tension unspooling in his chest. “Yeah?”

Wedge nods, turns to see to one last thing in his own work, then pushes himself out of his chair and approaches where Tycho sits, holding out a hand invitingly.

Tycho takes it without hesitation, and his friend pulls him up into his arms and into a kiss that's warm and familiar and easy. He sighs into it, tilting his head to deepen the connection as his own arms go around Wedge's waist.

After several long, comfortable moments, Wedge eases back just enough to ask, “What do you need, Tycho?”

Tycho tries to focus, images drifting through his mind of a dozen different possibilities, but he decides on, “I kind of like you taking charge like this.” He laughs softly. “Fuck me?”

Wedge shudders pleasantly, and it's as much a yes as the rough word he breathes out next. But he groans without pleasure as he glances at the door of the office. “We should go back to one of our quarters.”

Tycho thinks about it, decides quickly that he's too impatient. “Should, but don't have to,” he quips back, and laughs when Wedge groans again but locks the door without complaint. This isn't the first time they've done it this way either.

“One problem,” Wedge starts to point out, but Tycho is already ahead of him, breaking away and going to his knees beside the desk, reaching into the back of the bottom drawer.

“Left it here last time,” he explains, triumphantly brandishing the small bottle of lube. “Just in case.”

Wedge shakes his head. “Incorrigible. I can't believe I never found it.”

“You never go looking in your desk drawers,” Tycho teases. He presses the bottle into Wedge's waiting hand and kisses him again, short and hot. “Come on. I want you.”

“ _Kriff_ ,” Wedge breathes as he yanks him in again, a hand tangling in Tycho's hair and pulling just the right side of painful. “Clothes off. Get on the chair.”

Tycho scrambles to obey, stripping gracelessly and climbing onto the seat he'd been working in just moments before, tossing the datapad aside with a _thunk_ he just can't be bothered to worry about right now. He kneels, legs spread, on the cushion, leaning over the low back, grinning as he hears Wedge's sharp intake of breath behind him at the view.

And then his friend is on him, warm, broad hands covering smooth skin as he presses kisses and nips across his shoulders, and, oh, he's undressed too, and Tycho can feel all of him as he presses closer yet, arms circling to tease across his chest, one dipping to take his cock in hand, and the fire in his belly kicks up another notch. He's mostly hard already; it takes no more than a few strokes before he's there, breath punching out of him as he twitches into Wedge's touch. “Did you lose the lube already?” he manages, teasing, and Wedge huffs in his ear and lets go. Tycho tries not to mourn the loss too much, because he knows what's coming next.

He hears the familiar sound of the bottle opening, soft wet sounds as Wedge warms the gel in his hands. Then he's is back, one arm around Tycho again, a knee braced behind him on the chair to bring them close, and the other hand trails down his back, warm and slick between his cheeks, and then a finger circles around his hole, and Tycho lets out a breath.

“Patience,” Wedge murmurs, clearly amused, but his voice is tense, impatient in itself. Lips ghost across Tycho's shoulder. “I've got you.”

The finger probes deeper, presses against resistant muscle, and they made matching sounds as it eases inside. Tycho grits his teeth as he wills his body to relax against the intrusion, not to tense up and clench down. _How long_ has _it been?_ he wonders, but it doesn't matter now.

Wedge's hand is back on his cock, easy, light strokes as his finger pumps slowly in and out, opening him up, and Tycho breathes through a sudden surge of impatience. “I can take more,” he says, politer words than the demand that sits on his tongue.

Wedge obliges him, a second finger joining the first, and Tycho bites out a gasp as he scissors them, stretching him further. He crosses his arms on the back on the chair, presses his forehead against them even as Wedge swipes a thumb through the precum beading at the head of his cock, rubs there, makes him shake.

“More,” Tycho groans again, shifting impatiently. “Wedge-” And then he gasps and arches, words stolen as Wedge's fingers unerring find that spot within him, stroke and press there mercilessly. “Fuck! Wedge-”

“Mmm?” Wedge murmurs, and Tycho can feel a smile against his neck, even as his fingers continue their overwhelming movements.

“I want – _kriff,_ Wedge, easy – I want it to _last_.”

“Thought it had been too long already,” Wedge murmurs, but he eases off, draws his fingers out, and Tycho is about to protest that _that's_ certainly not what he meant when they're back again, a new stretch making him groan as he adds a third.

“Yeah,” Tycho says, a whine entering his voice. “Like – gods, like that.”

“Like this?” Wedge picks up the pace, fingers pressing deeper, faster, harder, and Tycho bites back the sounds that threaten to come tumbling from his mouth as his head goes back of it's own accord. Wedge pants a laugh. “I'll take that as a yes.”

Tycho can't respond as he arches against him, concentrating just on the feeling of it, the pleasure of the stretch and pressure, the way the pads of Wedge's fingers just barely brush his prostate now and then, little sparks of euphoria mixed in.

And then Wedge is slowing again, murmuring in his ear, “Can you take the fourth?”

Tycho moans at the very thought, nearly out of his mind with sensation by now. “Could probably take your whole fist if you asked me to,” he slurs.

Wedge curses sharply, fingers stuttering inside him before redoubling their efforts. “Another time,” he promises, and something in Tycho's belly twists with anticipation. Then the fourth finger is at his entrance, pressing in inexorably, and he whines with it until he has them all and Wedge is pumping them into him again, more slowly now, really letting him feel it.

“Is this what you want?” Wedge asks him, breath a hot pant against his ear. “I can-”

“Don't you dare,” Tycho bites out. “Just – don't you dare stop now.”

Wedge's only response is to bite at his neck, letting out his own groan, and Tycho's gut lurches as he feels his cock against his hip, one, two shallow thrusts, and Wedge must be _aching_ by now, but he's being so good to him. Then he's moving his fingers again, making everything in Tycho quiver as finding that spot once more, pressing mercilessly against it as he moves, even as the hand on his cock strokes and twists just right, and it all crests so suddenly, Tycho crying out and breaking apart with it, hands clenching in the fabric of the chair, not a thought spared for the upholstery as he soaks it with his release.

Wedge eases him through it with soft strokes, pulling his fingers out gently as Tycho shivers and sinks against the cushions, but then he's done being patient. Tycho listens over the sounds of his own harsh breathing as his friend takes himself in hand, the slick sounds of it familiar as his ragged breaths, and only a moment or too later, he's following with a bitten-off exclamation, hot release striping Tycho's back before he all but collapses on top of him. The chair really isn't big enough for both of them, but they make it work, a pile of sweaty, sticky limps and heaving chests, the room full of their gasping breaths as they come back down to earth.

“How was that?” Wedge mumbles after awhile from where his face is shoved into Tycho's neck.

“When my brain comes back, I'll let you know,” Tycho mutters through a satisfied grin. “I think your fingers tore it right out of me.”

Wedge chuckles, his breath ruffling Tycho's hair. “I've still got it.”

“You so do. Here, let me-” Tycho squirms beneath him, and after a bit of flailing they manage to arrange themselves into a more comfortable position, Tycho sitting properly in the chair, Wedge kneeling in his lap, Tycho's hands bracing his waist. Tycho makes a face as the cushions squelch beneath him. “I think we ruined the chair.”

Wedge frowns as his hands come to rest on Tycho's chest. “Someone's going to be unhappy about that.”

“Aw, come on, Wedge,” Tycho groans, pinching his bare gut cheekily. “You can't go all serious on me yet; we're still naked.”

Wedge rolls his eyes expansively but doesn't comment further.

“Besides, it's our office. Clean it the best we can, throw a sheet over it, what's anybody gonna do?” He grins lasciviously. “Then we can just take it off next time.”

“Oh no, there's not going to be a next time,” Wedge complains. “Not in this chair. I'm sore already.”

“You know, that is a good thought. Because seeing as how you were able to totally wreck me with just a chair and your fingers, I think I really need to be reminded of what you can do with a bed and your cock next time.”

“I think that can be arranged.”


End file.
